Born to Die
by ceruleanblues
Summary: AU. Images slammed into her skull; a montage of stolen memories that had been so spitefully ripped from her. Everything that she was made to believe, that she was coerced into agreeing, they were nothing but rancid lies. Stories that had been deliberately planted in place to suppress the despicable things Damon Salvatore had inflicted upon her.


**A/N:** Hi there! It's been a while, but this oneshot was months in the making. I wanted to embark on a literary journey and explore a different style that I've always wanted to try. It's a little more poetic, I reckon, from the other works I've done, and not as meaty in content, but rest-assured, there's a storyline.

Enjoy!

xXx  
CeruleanBlues

* * *

 **Born to Die**

He noticed her immediately.

From his lonesome perch at the bar, the whiff of sun-kissed magnolias was a shining beacon away from the tumbler of bourbon in his hands. His stormy blue eyes narrowed, intrigued, tracking her graceful movements—wispy curls dancing over her shoulders—as she headed for a booth by the windows. Her sigh reached his ears, a whisper in the wind, and with it a slight agitation in her countenance.

Her gaze dropped to the watch upon her wrist.

A string of rather imaginative threats slipped from her tongue.

His lips twitched, a spark of amusement gracing his sharp features.

Blonde and feisty.

She waved to the passing busboy and smiled something sincere when he set a glass of water down in front of her; peers from the local high school by the sound of it. Cordial chit-chat ensued about what would pass off as 'football' in the country, about what a sadistic bastard the history teacher was—such banality in this one-pony town and the ignorance of the dangers that lurked in plain sight—until the kitchen called for the quarterback's attention.

Caroline.

Her name was Caroline.

And her boyfriend was late.

* * *

She drummed her fingers restlessly on the surface of the table, a staccato rhythm that aided in sorting out the disorganized maelstrom of emotions swirling in her chest. Tardiness was her pet peeve, and one that Tyler had conveniently forgotten, if the lack in cursory text messages was any indication.

That inconsiderate ass.

The ice had melted in her water, leaving a ring of condensation pooling around the bottom of her glass. She glared at it, wondering if she ought to ask Matt for a coaster when she felt the sudden sensation of being watched.

Her skin prickled; shoulders tensed.

A shiver down her spine that sent her nerves on edge.

An unexplained pull tugged at her soul.

Before she could justify her actions, Caroline Forbes had already turned her head.

Ocean met sky as time stood still.

* * *

A prepubescent jock burst theatrically into the establishment, flustered and apologetic, and trudged straight for the girl. His plimsolls squeaked against the parquet, the red-and-black letterman jacket on his back a proud declaration of his social status amongst the student body, and Klaus Mikaelson didn't think he possessed the patience necessary to tolerate teenage drama.

Draining the rest of his drink, he slapped a generous amount of cash down on the worn oak surface before making his swift exit. Passing the couple now engaged in the beginnings of a lover's spat was inevitable, but the verbiage of colorful expletives so articulately thrown at the speechless boy tickled the dark abyss of the hybrid's heart.

Witty and beautiful.

Steps from the door, he caught a scent.

Although slightly muted and masked by douses of cologne, the telltale musk of a lycanthrope was undeniable.

An un-triggered werewolf.

Interesting.

* * *

She knocked the stubborn tears away with a furious swipe of her hand, keeping the other clamped tightly around the steering wheel. Her knuckles were turning white and she had no fucking clue where she was going, but that the empty stretch of road ahead was a soothing balm to her bruised ego.

The audacity of that good-for-nothing, dimwitted douchebag of an ex-boyfriend, to insinuate that she was too uptight, too neurotic, too much for him. Granted, his accusations were mostly true, but he wasn't without his own set of flaws. How dare he; how dare Tyler Lockwood—vain, pompous, egocentric, Class-A jerk of the century—break up with her mere seconds before she could dump his cheap, pathetic ass.

 **My oh me, my  
Feet don't fail me now  
Take me to your finish line**

Her solo pity party had turned into a full-blown bitching fest; surely she was entitled to that at least.

Better to be angry than depressed.

Stages of mourning and all that crap.

But she was done with that.

Done with feeling sorry for herself.

With thinking that she would never be good enough; that no matter how hard she tried, she would always be second best to Elena Fucking Gilbert.

Elena, who was effortlessly sweet and perfect in every way—whom she had known since they were in diapers—and though they were practically sisters, there would always be a certain degree of resentment that came with constantly being in the girl's shadow. Insecurities that would creep up on her in the dead of the night, that she would wake up to and wonder if that was the day people pushed her away.

 **Oh my heart it breaks every step that I take  
But I'm hoping that the gates, they'll tell me that you're mine**

A shadow darted out in front of her car.

Big and furry, and she swerved to avoid it.

Seconds later, her world went black.

* * *

Witches were such tedious, sanctimonious creatures. They treated him with scorn and disdain at every available opportunity; flaunted their powers in his presence as if that would intimidate him, but all the more hypocritical now that they needed his help.

Albeit in an extremely condescending manner.

Those self-righteous hags.

Still, he was nobody's hit man but his own, and definitely wasn't a right sodding fool to believe every empty accusation flung his way. Marcel Gerard was his former protégé, after all, even if they were currently on rocky grounds. New Orleans rightfully belonged to the Mikaelsons, but while the family had been preoccupied with external matters, the task of handling supernatural issues in the city had inevitably fallen to the younger vampire. The boy, it seemed, had grown ambitious. After composing a quick text to his brother, Elijah, to verify the information—with orders to compel, kill and/or maim if need be—Klaus slid into his brand new SUV and drove off.

 **Walking through the city streets  
Is it by mistake or design?  
I feel so alone on a Friday night  
Can you make me feel like home if I tell you you're mine**

He flipped the radio on but didn't bother to search for a running station; preferred static noise to the atrocities they called music nowadays. Gone were the times of true artistry—of great poets and composers—and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself the luxury to reminisce.

Florence during the Renaissance.

Neoclassicism in Rome.

Art Nouveau in France.

Avant-garde in Italy.

It was a shame his siblings had been absent for most of it.

And then he noticed a wreck by the roadside; an overturned car caught in a ditch, its driver more than likely already dead.

Accidents like those were none of his concern.

He wasn't a Good Samaritan, for fuck's sake.

That was, until he heard her voice.

* * *

"Come on, come on."

Caroline pounded her reddened fist against the windshield of the car, wincing as the action shifted her cracked ribs. Her legs were trapped beneath her, one foot twisted between the gas pedal and brakes, her left fibula probably broken. Gasping for air, hoping her body wasn't going into shock, she clutched at her dislocated shoulder and swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. Her vision swam as blood rushed to her brains, her head spinning from a possible concussion, but she determinedly fought through the bright spots in her eyes.

She was going to die a slow, tragic and lonely death, it seemed.

The salty tears stung and she blinked them away, refusing to cry.

God, her life fucking sucked.

* * *

He tore through the door without hesitation; effortlessly ripped it off its hinges before flinging the mangled piece of metal aside. Crouching low and peering in, his jaw clenched at the grisly sight. His sharp eyes made a meticulous sweep of the situation, assessing the damage. She was ghostly pale and barely conscious, her luscious blonde curls tainted in dark crimson and tiny scratches marring her milky complexion, but very much alive.

Gingerly he reached out for her, attempting to soothe her with his calloused touch.

"Apologies, sweetheart, but this will hurt quite a bit."

An agonizing cry accompanied the sickening crack to her pelvic bone, but now that she wasn't wedged between the gearshift, he cradled her as best as he could and heaved her away from the precarious vehicle. In the chill of the evening, he held her trembling body in his arms, so delicate and fragile as he brushed her matted hair away from her face.

It would be a tragedy to let such perfection go to waste.

Her long lashes fluttered; heavy-lidded, her pupils dilated and glazed over.

"You…"

"Try not to speak, love."

Klaus then bit into his wrist and held the open wound to her lips.

"Drink."

Her first deep pull nearly unraveled his tightly coiled restraints. An unexpected wave of heat streamed through his veins, a cocktail of adrenaline and lust, and his irises flared golden when an unintentionally sensual moan emanated from her throat. She arched into him, involuntarily grinding her pert arse against the bulge in his pants even as she desperately clung onto his forearm.

Suddenly, she froze.

Her eyes sprung open, widened in terror, yet she made no motions to escape.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked quietly.

He raised his brows. "On the contrary; I believe I just saved your life."

She gulped audibly, her mouth still smeared in his blood, and for an instant, he marveled at how glorious she would look, completely ensconced in his monster. His wolf snarled; the urge to mark her—to claim her as his—seared his skin like a nasty burn.

Always the possessive bastard.

"Why would you do that?"

He paused.

"I could still let you die, Caroline," he murmured, tenderly tracing the line of her cheekbone with his knuckles before his gaze flickered back up to meet her fiery one. Blunt nails scorched through his flesh; he wished it could scar. "If that's what you want. If you really believe your existence has no meaning."

 **Don't make me sad, don't make me cry  
Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough I don't know why**

In the silence, her heart pattered like a machine gun.

"I can make you strong, ageless, fearless. I can show you what the world has to offer," he continued, leaning into her, the tip of his nose trailing down the slender slope of her neck. "Great cities and art and music; genuine beauty. You can live a thousand years."

A spark of interest spurred him on.

"All you have to do is ask."

Her wounds were already starting to heal, her complexion a rosy hue against the conflict ricocheting in her head. Klaus held the breath he didn't need.

 **Keep making me laugh,  
Let's go get high  
The road is long, we carry on  
Try to have fun in the meantime**

"I don't want to die."

He nodded solemnly, a picture of deception; the irony not lost to him.

"Sweet dreams, love."

A quick snap of her neck and she went limp in his arms.

* * *

She dreamt in black and red.

In strobes of tongue and teeth and death.

Of brutal massacres and disfigured corpses littering soiled fields.

Screams of the doomed were deafening; voices, too many to count.

Images slammed into her skull; a montage of stolen memories that had been so spitefully ripped from her. Everything that she was made to believe, that she was coerced into agreeing, they were nothing but rancid lies. Stories that had been deliberately planted in place to suppress the despicable things Damon Salvatore had inflicted upon her.

Caroline bolted upright.

Her lungs were full of ash and smoke; her throat made of gravel.

Distorted hallucinations danced in a kaleidoscopic trance before they abruptly sharpened into perfect clarity. She winced, irritated; everything was either too bright or too loud. The room wasn't hers—nothing that she could identify as remotely familiar—and her stomach lurched in panic. With a yelp, she scrambled out of bed, untangling herself from the covers, and found herself accosted by the heady, masculine mixture of musk and earth, clad in a Henley and a pair of very comfortable sweats that definitely didn't belong to her.

"How am I alive?"

"Because I turned you."

She whirled around as a man stood, casually leaning against the doorjamb, a roguish smirk gracing his comely features. In one hand, he held a crystal tumbler. Deep red and looking far more enticing than it ought to, Caroline inhaled the sweet tang of rich iron, her instincts screaming that she needed to hunt—to feed—the blinding urge only slightly overshadowed by the sheer gravity of the situation.

"What am I?" she rasped.

He watched her avidly; this stranger she had only met the night before.

"A vampire."

Yet, she recalled the feral glint that had bled yellow in his eyes; how they were unlike anything that she had ever seen on the older Salvatore. Amidst her growing hunger, she was intrigued. "What does that make you, then?"

"I'm a hybrid."

"Of what, exactly?"

He strode towards her; poignant steps that echoed off the walls. Her fingers itched to snatch the glass he so cruelly kept just barely out of reach, the wicked cut of his dimples provoking the monster within. She battled to remain aloof in her near desperation, well aware that the bastard was testing her limitations, gauging her reactions.

"A werewolf."

She scoffed, flat and scratchy. "How does that work?"

"Oh, we'll have plenty of time for that, love," he grinned darkly. "But where are my manners? You must be starving."

Her inherent defiance reared its ugly head at the most inopportune moment.

"I'm not doing it," she declared.

"You need to feed to complete the transition, sweetheart."

"I won't."

"Then you'll die."

His smugness vexed her tremendously, but what witty retort she was ready to spit his way sailed right out the window when he brought the tumbler to his mouth and languorously took hefty gulps, leaving only remnants staining the insides of the glass before it shattered in his grasp. She recoiled in reflex, only for him to crowd her once again. His tongue darted out; swiping so sinfully across his plump bottom lip, she barely felt the hitch in her windpipe as the dull ache in her gums intensified. The steady drumbeat of his pulse beckoned her like a moth to a flame; a lure so powerful, she couldn't resist it any longer.

Her fangs dropped.

Her control snapped.

She lunged.

* * *

He was older.

Stronger.

Faster.

A swift swipe at Caroline in midair and Klaus had her wrapped tightly in his clutches. With one arm banded across her breasts and the other over her belly, he ground his hips harshly down onto the round, supple flesh of her arse. Soft curves molded pliantly with the hard panes of his muscles as she thrashed wildly in his unrelenting hold. Stifling a roar, he kicked her feet apart, planting them firmly onto the floor.

"Enough," he hissed lowly in her ear, his nose gazing her temple. "Stop struggling."

Her back went rigid as she stilled.

His hand snaked up to linger beneath her chin, thumb caressing the line of her jaw. A chuckle reverberated in his chest. "Awfully presumptuous of you, love, though I applaud your spirit. Only a few bold enough would even think to attempt such a move. Do you really not know who I am? Considering you weren't too surprised by the existence of vampires and werewolves, I would assume the Salvatore brothers had filled you in. Have they not told you, then, Caroline?"

"Between fawning over Elena and messing with my memories, your importance might have slipped their minds," she spat out, laden with bitterness.

So the plot thickened.

"Ah, yes, the doppelgänger," he drawled. "How painfully predictable." Settling closer into her spine, Klaus twirled a lock of her hair around his index finger. "No matter, you'll learn soon enough. Onto more mannered subjects, then."

She huffed, still prideful in her mounting bloodlust, still impeccably stunning in her thinly-veiled rage. "Such as?"

His scruff grazed her porcelain cheek.

"Your first kill."

* * *

A girl stumbled into the room—a brunette, not much older than she was, with her hair up in a ponytail and garbed in a T-shirt, spandex shorts and trainers—quaking like a leaf; the sacrificial lamb. She gazed blankly ahead, silent and obedient.

Compelled.

Caroline flinched. "No."

"You need to adjust your perspective on life now that you're a vampire, love." His grip never once faltered as he intricately mapped the slope of her waist with the flat of his palm, skillfully extricating a needy whimper from the depths of her guts. "You're free. Celebrate the fact that you are no longer bound by trivial human conventions. Embrace the darkest parts of yourself that crave for the power, the control, the satisfaction of having someone at your mercy; it's intoxicating."

The devilish smile she felt against her skin was electric.

"Seductive."

A surge of arousal pooled in her core.

And then he was gone.

The eyes she didn't realize had been closed shot open. Over the brunette's shoulder, his glowing amber ones stared right back, predatory and penetrating marrow-deep. She swayed slightly on her feet—his sudden absence a jarring shock to her hyper-charged system—and felt goosebumps chasing down her vertebrae.

"You'll love it, Caroline," he crooned. "Shall I show you?"

Canines and fangs gleamed dangerously, arrogant and almost sadistically gleeful, and somewhere in the recesses of her sanity, she shouldn't find the sight so fucking appealing, but her monster knew no such qualms. He read her perfectly, the insufferable bastard; with those taunting dimples and an eyebrow arched in silent challenge as he leisurely lowered his lips, inch by agonizing inch.

Toying with her.

Goading her.

When he seemed to decide that her patience had been sufficiently through the wringer, the hybrid abandoned all pretense of civilized finesse and dove in, unceremoniously ripping into the girl's jugular. It was primal, the way he fed, and Caroline found herself entranced, unable to look away; the erotic way in which he reveled in his nature that sent a new frisson of desire coursing through her.

He pried away an eternity later, his stubble smeared in crimson.

Smoldering.

Instantly, she was assaulted by the succulent scent.

Something in her awakened.

Impulse.

She could feel the burn of adrenaline pumping in her veins, spreading like wildfire through her nerve endings. Bare feet padded across the floor on their own volition; no better than the compelled human. The devil called and her neuroses screamed. Yet, it was so much easier to succumb to the whispers of rapture, to tumble down the rabbit hole and not give a damn if there was a way back home.

Fuck it.

The wretched always had more fun, anyway.

So Caroline relished in her first kill; unapologetically moaned in ecstasy as her fangs pierced through delicate skin and the gush of warm, fresh blood coated her tongue in rich ambrosia, dribbling down her throat like a potent mix of nectar and wine. She savored that first deep pull—basking in the stir of sensations her new life force elicited for one exquisite moment—before greed quickly snatched at her inhibitions, and devoured what was left of the dying girl.

 **Come take a walk on the wild side  
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain**

"It's exhilarating, isn't it?"

His lecherous timbre broke through her frenzy, causing her pause. Where it was faint before, there was no pulse left; the body then promptly forgotten in a heap by their feet. Heaving chests and smudged in murder, they were an equally devastating vision, conjured up in the most beautiful of nightmares.

 **You like your girls insane,  
So choose your last words, this is the last time**

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Alive."

 **Cause you and I, we were born to die**

* * *

Mouths clashed fervently, lips slippery and desperate as they seized and slanted. Tongues dueled with unbridled passion; hips collided insistently as Klaus laved at those plump seams, breeching in to strum across her delectable palate. She tasted of paradise and sin, her kisses like moonshine in winter, spiraling down the path of addiction.

Too much, yet not nearly enough.

More.

Fuck, he wanted so much more.

Warning bells rang in the edges of his cognizance, loud and obnoxious, mocking his flimsy resolve, but the low purr resonating in his ears immediately silenced his inner demons; always selfish, always ravenous. Digits threaded through her soft curls, twirling then twined in a fist to keep her steady, a sultry keen for his gauche manhandling, laced in nothing but debauched promises; wanton sounds that ricocheted straight to his groin.

He wanted her dripping.

Wanted her quivering and writhing in his sheets.

Wanted her screaming in the throes of pleasure he evoked.

Wanted every velvet inch of her for himself.

Wanted her a bit too much.

Always, always the possessive bastard.

"Mine," he growled.

Hands flew to his chest and yanked at his shirt; feral eyes that glared black and red through thick lashes mirrored the gold in his. Incandescent and lethal, utterly befitting of her adoptive nature.

A perky, blonde Angel of Death.

"Not. Yours."

Oh, did he fucking love a challenge.

"We'll see."

* * *

Stunned, slack-jawed and sprawled on his ass with a makeshift stake protruding from his stomach was a shockingly good look on Damon, even more so as he sputtered incoherently at the sight he was attempting to comprehend in front of him. Short of preening in satisfaction, Caroline sauntered, towering over him.

 **Lost but now I am found  
I can see but once I was blind**

"Did he do this?" the older Salvatore ground out through the pain. "Did you beg my brother to turn you? Some sick revenge against me because of Elena?"

So conceited even in suffering.

A cursory glance was spared for Stefan—his humanity switched off, arms folded across his torso and already bored with the situation—before she dropped to one knee.

"It's nothing personal, Damon," she shrugged elegantly. "We need the doppelgänger and you just happen to be collateral damage. Yay me."

His face pinched in fury. "Leave Elena alone or I swear to God I will—"

"Promises, promises," she tutted. "You're such a hypocrite, you know that? I was collateral damage to you once, wasn't I?"

 **I was so confused as a little child  
Tried to take what I could get  
Scared that I couldn't find**

"Fuck you, Barbie."

"Been there, done that." Bringing her nose closer, she hummed ice and vermin. "Had better. Much better. And by the way—"

Mercilessly, she drove the wooden panel right through his body.

 **All the answers honey**

His agonizing scream echoed down the empty hallway.

"Klaus sends his regards."

* * *

Barely through the door and she was pinned to the wall, all sinew and hard lines pushed tightly up against her front. Wrists locked above her head, trapped in an unyielding vice, she was suffused in a blanket of heat permeating through layers of fabric. Plush lips ghosted over her sternum, the tip of a nose gliding, five o'clock shadow tickling as deft fingers burrowed into flaxen curls.

A delicious rub of denim against her throbbing core.

An involuntary arch of her spine.

A long pull of her scent.

"Did he touch you?"

His jealousy reared dangerously, guttural and commanding, in a tempestuous cauldron of green and gasoline. Tightly coiled and looming over her, his hot breath fanned a rose-tinted cheek; still pressing, imprinting, almost suffocating in the way his presence circumscribed all of her heightened senses. The dull throb between her thighs begged for attention, seeking friction that was adamantly refused until she quietly whined into his neck.

 **Don't make me sad, don't make me cry  
Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough I don't know why**

"Did he?"

Gruff and strained, his demanding tone had shudders spearing through her person.

"He tried," she husked out, hips undulating without success. "And failed."

 **Keep making me laugh,  
Let's go get high  
The road is long, we carry on  
Try to have fun in the meantime**

Caroline felt his growing smirk against her throat, felt his hand leave her hair and sweep her flank. "The doppelgänger?"

"In the trunk."

"Good girl."

There was a poignant rip where he rudely shredded her favorite top clean down the middle. She pouted; was about to protest his mauling when he swallowed her undignified squeak with an ardent kiss, filled with liquid sin and biting sting. Metal clinked amidst near-violent tugs, of leather and denim rasping as he sought to destroy their clothes. Jeans abandoned around their ankles, mouths still urgently fused, he hoisted her leg up, hooking it around his tapered waist.

 **Come take a walk on the wild side  
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain  
You like your girls insane**

Shit, they were still in the fucking foyer.

"Klaus—"

A long digit dipped beneath dampened lace, catching evidence between her slickened folds before plunging knuckle-deep into her drenched opening. Head thrown back and weak in the knees, she cursed his criminal existence to hell and back when he curled another finger in to piston a maddening rhythm. The kaleidoscopic burst of fireworks exploding behind her closed eyelids could light up half the equator.

"We can't," she managed between labored pants. "Stefan's going to—"

Blunt teeth nipped beneath the hinge of her jaw, and with a calculated twist of his carpals, she was reduced to a boneless mess of monosyllabic noises.

"Let him watch." The lewd cadence in his timbre wrecked shivers down to her toes. "Tell me you don't want this, Caroline. Say the word and I'll stop."

A third insertion wrung a salacious whine from her chest; insides so full and incredibly stretched, his free edges scraping treasure troves against her fluttering walls and feeling so fucking amazing, it was only by sheer determination—and her innate stubbornness—that she hadn't completely surrendered to her libido and begged for release. Even then, Klaus was completely undeterred, his century-honed stoicism riling her up instead.

"Don't you fucking dare," she gritted out.

He bestowed her with a lascivious grin, the heel of his palm circling her tight bundle of nerves.

"What do you want then, love?"

Son of a bitch.

"I want you to shut up and fuck me, Klaus."

 **Choose your last words, this is the last time  
Cause you and I, we were born to die**

* * *

Her cellphone rang again, buzzing incessantly on the countertop, 'mom' angrily flashing on the screen for the umpteenth time, and debated if she ought to finally answer the damn thing, put it out of its misery. She sighed, knowing that her truancy had most likely already reached the Sheriff's ears, and that it wouldn't be tolerated without consequences, but for the first time in her fleeting human life, Caroline couldn't bring herself to care.

There was a party that needed her overbearing planning skills.

"You know, Caroline, I don't understand what you see in him."

Glancing up from her clipboard to meet that of Stefan lounging carelessly on the sofa across from her, she cocked a brow and canted her head. "Excuse me?"

"All the fucking you two have done; it's the accent, isn't it?" His steely green eyes regarded her with cold indifference, stirring a sudden bout of unpleasantness in her gut. "Surely you haven't stuck with him for as long as you have out of your own selfish needs."

Caroline narrowed her baby blues. "Just because you and Elena used to date doesn't give you the right to think that you actually know me."

"And here I thought we're friends."

She snorted mirthlessly, returning her attention to the well-crafted checklist. "Hardly."

"What's your game, Caroline?" he pressed on, a critical edge to his monotonous resonance. "Why are you really here?"

His persistent prodding was fast becoming tiresome, poking where his perfectly angular nose shouldn't be and grating on her nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Where her fingers itched to scratch his retinas out, she resisted. It would be a total waste of her freshly-manicured nails and, quite honestly, not worth the piss he probably got out of riling her up.

"My reasons don't concern you, Stefan," she responded, saccharine with an underlying threat attached to her words. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some compelled minions to go torment."

Rising purposefully to her feet, Caroline tossed her curls primly over one shoulder and took the nearest exit towards the grand stairwell, ignoring the other vampire's burning gaze upon her retreating form as she escaped into the demons swimming in her head. They gnawed at her anxieties and played Russian roulette at her doubts, waiting for the perfect moment to pull the trigger.

But then again, wasn't she already dead?

 **We were born to die  
We were born to die**

* * *

Negotiations were such tedious errands; he wouldn't have bothered with the likes of such insipid humans if they weren't crucial to the success of his plans. The Council were a bunch of cockroaches, traitorous simpletons who hid behind their wealth and their status—who traded innocent lives to save their own—and wasn't that just tragically predictable?

Pastor Young had been most resilient to his bargains, putting up quite an honorable front, but a mere mention of his precious daughter and he caved like a house of cards. Alaric Saltzman and Dr. Meredith Fell came as a convenient pair; two birds, one unmarked tombstone. He would save the Mayor for last.

The party was already in full swing when he returned, teenagers milling around, ignorant and inebriated. The cacophony of modern music blared through the speakers, the air thick with pheromones and endorphins; hot pulses that thrummed in time with the beat exciting the wolf within. Girls giggled and ogled, parading and gyrating in dresses that exposed more than it concealed as he weaved through the clumsy throng, his focus a tunnel vision when it landed on a certain spirited blonde.

"Have I mentioned how ravishing you look tonight, love?"

She swiveled around; a scowl ready, one finger jabbed menacingly into his chest and every bit the majestic Queen she deserved to be. "Where the hell have you been? Do you have any fucking idea what I have to—"

He kissed her.

Long and hard, and with a filthy swipe of his tongue over her glossy lips.

Hungry hands groped in a restless pattern; theatrics that were intended for wandering eyes and scandalmongers yet benefited him all the same. He needed her peers talking, needed her ex-boyfriend fuming and lashing out like a juvenile mongrel; knew for a fact that Tyler Lockwood was currently seething as he watched the indecent exchange play, a deliberate slap to his bloated ego.

 **Come and take a walk on the wild side  
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain  
You like your girls insane**

"You ready, sweetheart?"

Caroline beamed in pure wicked delight.

"Let's go have some fun."

* * *

The plan was simple.

Activate a werewolf, and then turn him into a hybrid.

The sacrifice: Sarah What's-her-face.

Caroline hadn't forgotten about the incident of 2010; had been secretly holding a grudge ever since the bitch had tried to steal her spot as head cheerleader on the squad, and while killing the brunette would be overreacting just a tad, she had no qualms compelling her into doing her bidding. Better yet if the girl died with vampire blood in her system; a nice little sired pet for Klaus and her to play with.

Still, she didn't appreciate Tyler pawing at her like a fucking Neanderthal—like he still owned her or something—and dragging her off to a conveniently empty room. How she had ever found him attractive was perplexing, considering his lack of respect for women in general. Her monster clawed testily, the urge to sink her fangs and tear at the brute's throat made for such a treat, it was a damn shame she couldn't follow through. Jaws clenched tight, she schooled her features into that of exasperation and skillfully slipped into the role of the petulant damsel she had been once upon a time.

"What the fuck was that about?"

"Excuse me?"

"What the hell, Care?" he fumed, almost hysterical as he clutched at tufts of his hair. "Are you kissing random dudes now? Is that a thing? Are you sleeping with him?"

Arms crossed, she rolled her eyes. "In case you've forgotten, Tyler, you're not my boyfriend anymore. I think that gives me the right to sleep with whomever I want."

"Always knew you were a slut—"

She had him by the neck, feet inches off the ground and watched in perverse satisfaction as he gaped dumbly in shock. The adjoining door opened then, right on cue. Klaus strolled in; hands casually clasped behind his back, tall and regal, the unlucky girl trailing obediently behind. Recognizing the hybrid, Tyler began to struggle, choking and going blue, fingers desperately attempting to pry the vampire off his crushing windpipe.

"Stay still."

On autopilot, his muscles relaxed.

Oh, the beauty of compulsion.

"Kill her."

* * *

Carol Lockwood begged him to save her son, pleaded with her money and her life to relief him of the horror that he was to become during a full moon before promising superfluous bullshit as tokens of faith. Awfully presumptuous of her, but nonetheless, it had served its main purpose. Everything else was just icing on the cake.

"Very well," Klaus eventually conceded when he was certain she would sell her soul to the devil himself if it meant her beloved spawn's safety. "As I am rather fond of her daughter, do what you will to ensure that any involvement on the Sheriff's part does not interfere with my affairs. I will not hesitate to put Tyler in a body bag should anything happen to Caroline."

"And what of Elena?"

He waved her off dismissively. "You shan't concern yourself with her at the moment. I believe you have much on your hands as it is."

"I need you to give me your word that the kids will be safe, Klaus."

He owed her nothing; sneered at the foolishly brave façade she had adopted, and considered making an example out of Tyler's shuddering form as he fought through the transformation, but he doubted Caroline would be too receptive to it if he did. All that hard work would've been in vain, especially with Kol's recent reports on Marcel's progress in New Orleans.

"I would expect mutual sentiments, Mayor."

"You have my word."

* * *

She found him sketching by the fireplace, placid and serene as he put charcoal to pastel paper. Bathed in an orange glow lit by dancing flames, bare feet propped up on the sofa, a tumbler of warm blood on the coffee table, he came across almost ethereal.

Almost vulnerable.

 **Don't make me sad, don't make me cry  
Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough I don't know why**

But she didn't want that.

The evening had been droll, and there were only so many times she could break Damon's fingers or gut him like a fish—something strangely therapeutic about hearing his merciful pleas—before the novelty of torturing him wore off. Stefan was out painting the town red—literally, she reckoned—and Caroline would've gladly joined in his hedonistic pursuits but mutilating victims wasn't a specialty she wanted to hone.

"Are you going to continue lurking out there for the rest of the evening, love?"

"Why? Does it bother you?"

Crossing the threshold, she padded over to lean over his shoulder, watching as he smudged the pad of his finger to shade in the contours of a woman's face.

Her face.

Brows furrowed and nose scrunched in full concentration as she straightened a random floral arrangement that had been knocked askew by a possibly inebriated teenager the night of the party. The guests had left and she had been supervising the cleanup; didn't even realize that he had been watching.

A flurry of activity kicked up in her stomach; butterflies and hand grenades and a whole other spectrum of unmentionables that she refused to acknowledge, because doing so meant that she had to admit to the feelings she had unknowingly developed for him.

Her amplified emotions could suck it, though.

"Why me?"

Flecks of yellow flickered in the reflection of his searching gaze as he paused, assessing. It was unnerving being on the tail end of such saturated intensity, to be so wholly scrutinized with such unabashed want, that she could do nothing else but surrender to the fall where the abyss called for the damned.

"Does it need saying?"

 **Keep making me laugh  
Let's go get high**

She didn't know how to respond to that—why her heart was full of helium and her throat stuffed with cotton—and it sent her reeling with an odd swoop in her gut; fuzzy and decked in rainbows. An entire monologue penned through her mind—musings to dwell upon—about everything and nothing.

Too much too fast.

Yet her foot was barely on the breaks.

Perhaps she didn't want to stop.

"I want you to show me."

His forehead crinkled. "You need to be a bit more specific than that."

"Your wolf."

The charcoal stick split in two.

"Show me."

 **The road is long, we carry on  
Try to have fun in the meantime**

* * *

They returned hours later—clothes disheveled with dried leaves in their hair—to find pieces of furniture knocked askew, splintered and lodged into walls, and Sarah desiccated by the stairwell. Down in the basement, Tyler was chained to the wall where the doppelgänger had been, the latter missing and the former drugged in Wolfsbane and Vervain, his speech slurring, half delirious.

"That backstabbing son of a bitch," the boy wheezed, barely coherent. "He jumped me and took Elena."

It wasn't fucking rocket science.

It wasn't even a surprise.

For as long as Klaus had known him, Stefan Salvatore had always been a loose cannon.

"He'll be back, though," Tyler added sluggishly, syllables garbled.

"And why is that?"

"I bit him."

* * *

Selfless dramatics ensued.

A pissing contest concealed in songful confessions and grand, romantic declarations.

Almost noble.

A movie director's wet dream in Technicolor and powerful ballads, but the love triangle was an overrated story gone stale. Perhaps she had become cynical in her new life, had outgrown the fairy tales she used to swoon at, saw past the bullshit of 'happily ever after', and traded glass slippers for claws and fangs.

"What do you reckon, love?"

She deliberated over her decision—the most important one thus far—with the same modicum of consideration the three people before her had given in the past. It ought to frighten her, the fates of her former friends—and a douchebag—dangling by a thread wound around her finger. Such power was dizzying, but as Caroline skipped over the tear tracks staining Elena's beautiful features, the apology and regret swimming in her copper-colored eyes, all she could think about was the lack of empathy she had for the girl.

"I'm sorely tempted to end this soap opera once and for all," she intoned flatly. "Honestly, this Romeo and Juliet charade is nauseating, but I'll applaud your commitments to the cause, so here's what we'll do."

Kneeling before the brunette, Caroline grasped her chin and leveled her stare. "One of them will die and the other will forget you. Choose wisely, Elena."

"I can't," she cried out. "Why are you doing this, Care?"

The vampire rose to her feet. "Perhaps I've had it with everybody putting you on a pedestal, how you never have to make the difficult decisions because the whole fucking world keeps coddling you, keeps shielding you from the horrors of life. Your parents died and the town mourned. I died and you didn't even care enough to find out how—"

"I would have—"

"No, you wouldn't. You didn't even realize when Bonnie went missing," she snarled. "But I did. With a little help, Kol Mikaelson found her trapped in a prison world being terrorized by a psychopathic warlock. Now honestly, Elena, what would you have done?"

The older Gilbert sibling curled in on herself, a broken doll with her head hung in shame. "I—I didn't know."

"Damon knew. Stefan sure as hell had known." Caroline pursed her lips in mock innocence, more spiteful than she had intended before wincing in sarcastic pity. "Did they not tell you anything at all?"

"No."

"Well, who do you think sent her there?"

* * *

New Orleans greeted her the way one would an old friend.

Bohemian.

Charming.

Rustic Spanish balconies lined the streets, intertwined in a picturesque blend of Baroque and antebellum, where she laughed and danced amongst tourists and gypsies alike. Sultry jazz soared through her veins—spontaneous bursts of brass and strings—as she allowed the music to lead her through the French Quarters and into a fairly nondescript establishment.

'Rousseau's', it spelled.

A man crooned on stage, a raspy tenor that rubbed like deep blue velvet, handsome and suave, commanding the attention of every single patron as he serenaded the hordes of admirers cooing reverently—practically swooning—with stardust in their eyes.

Bingo.

"Bourbon, please, and none of that cheap crap," Caroline requested politely from the blonde behind the bar. No point harassing innocent bystanders, really, especially not one who appeared to be too enamored by the resident Casanova to act like a properly functioning adult. "Neat, with just a hint of B-positive if you will."

She heard the heavy strides even before the final notes of the song had faded, accompanied by the raucous of applause and whistles; was aware that he was already making a beeline for her but steadfastly kept her back to him, smirking into the tumbler of rather subpar alcohol. Surely a decent drink—and a semblance of competency—wasn't too much to ask for.

 **Come take a walk on the wild side  
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain  
You like your girls insane**

"Blood and whiskey," he leered when she finally turned around. "A woman after my own heart."

She granted him a perfunctory grin, poignant and full of bite, enough to keep him interested.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Marcel Gerard."

The infamous protégé.

"Welcome to my Kingdom."

 **Choose your last words, this is the last time  
Cause you and I, we were born to die**

* * *

 **A/N:** Yes, I totally—shamelessly—stole an iconic line from Doctor Who and I make no apologies for it at all. So yes, this is another one of those stories that I wrote to appease myself, really; an attempt at exercising some writing skills, if you will. It would be nice, of course, to continue this story—about what Caroline and Klaus get up to in NOLA—but that's still up for debate at the moment.

Song used: "Born to Die" by Lana Del Rey


End file.
